


The Drink of Life

by Toasty_Owl



Category: Vermintide 2, Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer Fantasy, Warhammer: Vermintide
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2019-10-30 08:23:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17825258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toasty_Owl/pseuds/Toasty_Owl
Summary: Markus Kruber and Kerillian start noticing each other in new ways, forming a bond of humor, care, and eventual romance. Can love survive in the End Times?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, this is the first chapter of my first ever fic. All critiques welcome!

Markus Kruber awoke. 

His head was a swirl of pain and sound. Battle, all around him. A memory existed somewhere of an enormous fist swinging for him. The nails were long and rotted, the knuckles a scarred mass of stitches.

_Rat ogre._

Kruber’s midsection called for his attention the loudest.

_Broken ribs...and a lot of them._

Ever the pragmatist, Markus put his mind off his screaming sides and searched for other injuries.

_Back of the head...got under the helmet._

He felt now the slick run of blood down his scalp and into his collar. Lastly he found the ache in his hands and fingers. A quiet thrum of agony from swinging his hammer into so many armored Storm-vermin. An ache that had been getting too familiar as of late.

_You’re getting too old for this. How many swings do those hands have left?_

The small comfort that he was not in immediate danger of passing into Morr’s embrace left Kruber enough headspace to consider the sounds around him. Skaven screeching, the sound of fire roaring over his head, and a malicious cackle that had once unnerved, but now comforted the old soldier.

_Sienna, at it again. Bless her mad heart._

He felt the heat from the flames that passed over him, and now smelled singed hair.

_Too close for comfort, witch._

For all her use in reducing ratmen and pact-sworn to ash, Kruber wished the sorceress would be more meticulous with her aim. He had already had to mend six pairs of britches since they had arrived at Helmgart. Other sounds presented themselves more immediately though.

“You bastards! Come and claim me! For Athel Loren!”

_Kerillian?_

Kruber had no knowledge of elvish, but he knew there could be no one else speaking it than their sulky and sharp-tongued waywatcher. He noted the edge of madness in her voice. In the heat of battle Kerillian was usually silent, preferring to focus on the dance of combat. Kruber found her cries of fury and spurts of elvish disconcerting. 

_What’s got her in such a state?_

_Oh…_

Markus considered the grass he lay on. It was quite soft and pleasant. Unfortunately, as comfortable as it was, he realized he must look gravely wounded, if not dead.

_She cares this deeply…about a ‘lumberfoot’?_

Before he could continue this fascinating new thought, a deafening roar split the air. 

_The rat ogre!_

Kruber felt the ground around him shake as the abomination charged. He must get up, he must defend-

“For Sigmar! For the hammer! Hold them back! It is mine!!”

_Saltzpyre._

As Kruber registered the voice of his employer, a steady staccato of gunshots rang out from his left side. Markus counted nine shots, and then a shuddering crash from his right as what was left of the rat ogre fell.

_Thank Sigmar. It’s over._

He heard the clicks of triggers as Victor reloaded his pistols as quickly as he could.

_Always prepared for a fight, him._

Suddenly there was a hand sliding under the back of his neck. The palm was wrapped in cloth, but the fingers were strong and smooth.

_Kerillian._

Her other hand brushed against his throat, searching for a pulse. She found his vein and held her fingers there a bit longer than was strictly necessary. Kruber felt his heartbeat quicken under her touch.

“Is he alive, elf?”

Her fingers slid away suddenly, as if startled.

“Yes, faintly so, but yes. We need to get him back to the keep.”

“Obviously. The ratmen have dispersed after we felled that brute. Come now, the shadow bridge isn’t far.”

Kruber heard Saltzpyre trudge off in the direction of the bridge of shadows, no doubt scouting ahead. 

“I saw that look in your eyes when you brought that thing down. Careful you don’t get as mad as me, darling.”

“I thought I ordered you to focus your flames on the ratmen, witch.”

“Just keeping one eye on our fearless leader,” she said with a cackle.

“I do not need your oversight, Fuegonasus.”

The sounds of their conversation drifted away, and Kruber couldn’t help but be amused.

_The way they bicker, not like a prisoner and her keeper at all._

All of a sudden he felt nimble fingertips undoing the buckle of his helmet. As it was removed his scalp breathed, and Kruber was aware of how those smooth fingertips brushed against his beard. They lingered for a second, and retreated. Markus felt the imprint of their absence.

“A curse on that damned rat ogre. Markus, can you hear me?”

Kruber did not know why, but he remained silent, willing his face to be still. He heard Kerillian sigh.

“We’ll patch you up, mayfly. Have no worries of that.”

He felt once more her hand stroke at his beard, before she arose and stalked off. No doubt to construct a means to carry him the eighty or so yards to the shadow bridge. 

Despite the pain in his side and his head, the old soldier felt a warmth in his stomach like a glass of whiskey. However, the burn of this drink would not subside as quickly. Markus smiled to himself as he drifted into true sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Kruber’s memories felt disjointed. He remembered being placed onto a travois of woven branches, wounds screaming at him. He remembered the peculiar inversion of gravity as the shadow bridge activated. That feeling of falling while also being sucked to the floor was something he would never quite get used to. He remembered being placed on his bunk. The keep smelled of smoke, cold mountain air, and something sinister coming from Olesya’s workstation. Lohner’s voice came to him through a thick blanket of exhaustion.

“Tried to out-box a rat ogre, eh? The bleeding idiot.”

Then things became more jumbled. He had images of a campfire. Of his battered platemail stacked neatly by his bed, reflecting the jumping flames. Of tobacco from Saltzpyre’s pipe. Of Kerillian complaining of the stench and leaving for her lean-to outside. But not before casting a glance over her shoulder. Kruber’s eyes weren’t what they used to be, but he was struck with a feeling that she was looking at him. Her white eyebrows scrunched with concern, and then she was gone.

_Eyes aren’t what they used to be. She could have been scowling at Saltzpyre for all I know. No way to know, Markus. No way to know._

He awoke to a cold gust of mountain air blowing down from the tattered roof of the keep. Kruber looked up through the parting of blankets that lent his bunk some privacy. The sky was obscured with steely grey clouds. Now and again a peek of blue could be seen, but was covered again by some fast-moving stratus formation. Kruber watched the drifting shapes. He saw an eagle soar high above the keep, appearing to him as an angled speck. It dove out of sight, perhaps spotting a careless vermin far below it.

_Wish more eagles were large enough to hunt the rat-men. Might make our job a little easier._

Kruber looked around him, coming up on his elbows. The keep appeared empty, not even Lohner was at his table making plans for their next expedition. Somewhere beyond the center archway he could hear Olesya’s peg leg stumping about her workstation. Kruber realized he was shirtless but for his bandages, and the thin blanket did little to cut the chill. The old soldier reached down for his tunic, groaning at the protests from his ribs. He pulled the linen tunic over himself, and leaned back against the cool stones.

Suddenly, Kruber became aware that he was not alone.

From the stone staircase above his head he heard the muffled noise of careful steps and the sound of trailing...fabric? Kruber saw his arming sword by the foot of the bed and began to reach for it when-

_Kerillian??_

The elf strode down the battered stairs to Kruber’s right. She seemed to simply glide down them, her bare feet hardly touching the stones of the floor. However, more shocking than her gait was what she wore. Silks of blue and white wrapped around her form, exposing a pale, bare midriff. Her trademark face-wrap was still in place, but now it was of a midnight blue lace. Kruber could just make out a sly smile under the flowered pattern. Her eyes glittered with intent, as did the belt of elven jewels around her waist. Her bare legs were like the marble pillars at the entrance to a temple of Sigmar. She smelled of lilacs and pine.

Kruber sat there, gobsmacked.

“Kerillian… what are you… what is this…”

“Shhh,” she said, placing a finger a hair away from his lip, “It’s just us now. They’re all away on some mission or another. We don’t have to hide.”

“Kerillian, I… I don’t…”

“It’s all right Markus, I’ll be gentle with you, I know it’s been a while.”

“You don’t… I’ve never said…”

“I can tell, my dear,” she said, placing her foot on the edge of his bunk as she leaned in close, “Now come here, and give your sexy elf a big kiss.”

“What??”

Suddenly Kerillian cracked a mischievous smile, shimmered for a moment, and disintegrated into a cloud of smoke. 

From within the keep Kruber heard a cackle of mad laughter.

“WITCH!!”

Again, a peal of laughter, clearly from Olesya’s workstation.

“Ough, I’ll skin you for this!!”

Kruber heard a wooden clunking from beyond the archway, and the old witch emerged, carrying two steaming flagons and shaking with laughter.

“That wasn’t bloody funny, you old crone!”

“Really? It seemed quite amusing from where I stood.”

“You can’t just toy with a man’s heart like that!”

“Hm, you said heart? Not cock? Interesting…”

Kruber flushed scarlet under the bristles of his beard. Olesya extended one of the flagons to him.

“Now Kruber, drink your tea.”

“I’m not trusting anything from you, crone.”

“Come now,” she chuckled, “It was all in good fun. For me. And you won’t be able to fight many skaven if you don’t drink your tea.”

Begrudgingly, Kruber took the mug from her gnarled hand. The old witch cracked a smile and sat at the foot of his bed, the feather of her hat bobbing merrilly. Kruber watched her take a sip from her flagon before consenting to drink from his.

“Agh! What is this muck? I thought you said it was tea!”

“Well, mine is tea. Your’s will still help you heal, so drink up.”

Kruber fixed her with a suspicious glare, but drank anyway. The bitter concoction slid down his throat, burning and stinging. Once it reached his belly it did give off a pleasant warmth, he had to admit. Olesya sat at the edge of his bunk, swinging her short legs and gazing up at the sky through the roof. 

“Olesya, with the illusion just then, why did you-”

“Oh, simple. I see the way you look at her. And more importantly, the way she looks at you. It’s the way I used to look at men in uniform back when I studied at the Grey College. There was many a man from the emperor’s army who would-”

“Please, witch, I don’t want to know.”

Olesya chuckled, and the laughter brought a glow of youth to her scarred and weathered face.

“I won’t bother you with stories then, soldier. But I will say about the elf, get a move on! Things get worse every day, two people ought to find some happiness if they can. Even if it is as odd a pair as the both of you.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Olesya.”

“Suit yourself,” she said with a cackle, “All drunk up? Good. Back in your boots in no time.”

Olesya hopped up and took his flagon. Kruber watched her hobble off, humming some Bretonnian jig to herself.

_Mad old bat._

Still, the illusion she’d conjured up had shaken Kruber awake. Thoughts came to his mind unbidden now. He and Kerillian sitting alone, sharing a flagon of Lohner’s ale. Walking together through the keep. The light of Morrslieb shining in her eyes as they embraced-

_No. No, dammit. She’s a friend and there’s no time for it. No time at all with the Chaos and the skaven and-_

Suddenly the shadow bridge sprang to life with an otherworldly hum. The familiar pale glow emanated from further in the keep.

From below, Kruber could hear Bardin and Saltzpyre in an animated argument.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! Sorry for the wait, big things happening in life, somewhat disrupted the writing process. Back on track now though! Just got back from a long trip and had this bouncing around my head. Shorter than usual, but I wanted to give people something to show I'm still alive. Hope you like!

“Bah! Come now, Grimgi! It’ll make a fine addition to the hold!”

“Absolutely not! Toss the filthy thing over the edge now, dwarf, or-”

“I’ll not! I slayed the beast, I get to display it!”

“You-”

Kruber heard Sienna give an exasperated sigh.

“Darlings! You squabble worse than acolytes. Here.”

The light of a raging inferno blazed from the direction of the shadow gate. A moment later Kruber caught a whiff of the foulest rot imaginable. He nearly retched as Bardin swore.

“Zharrin!! Ye’ve nearly singed my beard off! Once I get this axe free-”

“Calm yourself, master dwarf. I’ve given us all a mutual solution. And most of your beard is still intact,” Sienna said with a chuckle.

At this moment Kerillian came up the steps, looking considerably worse for wear. Her elven broadsword lay on her shoulder and seemed to weigh her down more than usual. Upon seeing Kruber, she locked eyes with him, her black pupils alight with concern and … joy? It passed too quickly for Markus to see. Hearing something he did not, she glanced behind her and quickly darted up the steps and outside to her tent.

_Looked like she wanted to talk. Maybe-_

Bardin trudged up the main keep steps, grumbling to himself as his beard smoked. He clutched his great battleaxe in his hands, which appeared to be embedded in a massive skull. The skull still smoked and brought with it an ungodly reek that Kruber recognized from a moment before. Upon seeing his friend awake, Bardin’s face erupted in the broadest grin.

“Azumgi!! You’re up! Fine time for it too! Ye should take a look at this!”

“Bardin … is that-?”

“Troll skull! One of the beasties cornered us down in Dreisdunkel Mine. Ye should have seen the look on Saltzpyre’s face! Pure terror! But all for naught! Slew it in a single blow, see?” 

Bardin pointed to where the head of his axe was well and truly stuck in the thing’s forehead.

“I can see that Bardin. Would you take it out of my face though?”

Bardin saw now that Kruber was holding his arm over his nose in a defensive gesture, and gave him a roar of laughter.

“Oh Azumgi, I’ve forgotten how tetchy human noses are!” he chuckled, “I’ve got a nose for naught but jewels and metal. You dawri …”

The thought went unfinished as Bardin placed his boot on the troll’s face and wrenched his axe free with a sickening crunch. He placed the skull on the pillar at the center of the keep, only adjusting it two or three times before appearing satisfied.

“There! A little decoration to make this place more homely! Now to see where Lohner’s stashed the ale…”

With that Bardin trundled off to the armory, singing a dwarvish drinking tune under his breath. Kruber could only chuckle and shake his head at his stout friend.


	4. Chapter 4

Dinner was a welcome affair.

Kruber watched as Bardin brought stones for a campfire into the keep, along with a dwarven cookpot and stand. Victor produced boughs and branches enough for an evening’s fire. While Bardin was fetching the stocks of boar meat and potatoes, Sienna emerged from her chamber, looking as though she had just awoken from a profoundly deep nap. With a flourish of her fingers, a fire sprang to life between the stones. Victor, for once, made no comment.

Before long the smell of boiling boar, potatoes, and leeks filled the drafty keep. Kerillian was still nowhere to be seen. As Bardin stirred the chortling broth, Sienna took a vial from inside her robes and, uncorking it, shook three brief dashes of red powder into the stew.

“Aye, what’s that Zharrin? Poisoning us at last?”

“A Bright wizard is never without her seasonings, Master Dwarf. Besides, your cooking has been all too bland as of late.”

“Oh, well! If you think ye can do better-”

“No need to fuss Bardin, just doing what I do best; spicing things up.”

With this she blew the dwarf a smoky kiss, causing Bardin to cough and flash her a rude dwarven gesture. Kruber chuckled, not too loudly, and noticed a smile creeping its way onto Victor’s lips as well.

Bardin sourly plated the stew for four, and they all dug in. The spice hit Kruber immediately, causing a slight sweat to build up on the back of his neck.

_Sure didn’t have meals like this up in Ostland._

Despite the brief discomfort, Kruber found the stew useful for providing a defense against the cold gusts that occasionally made their way down from the open roof. Kruber noticed that while Sienna was wolfing down her portion, Bardin had put his down, half-finished, to begin a story.

“There we were Azumgi, in the depths of Dreisdunkel Mine, raki on one side, troll on the other, and a great chasm to our backs. Now-”

“We were there, dwarf,” Satlzpyre cut in.

“Aye, I know that! I’m telling it for Kruber’s sake!”

Victor gave a brief roll of his eyes and Bardin took this as his sign to continue.

“Aye, there we were, troll coming straight for us, and those thagi’s on all sides giving us no time to think. Then I have an idea!”

Sienna snorted at this and covered her face in her hands.

“What?! It was a fine idea, and it worked!”

Sienna’s muffled laughter came from behind her hands. Bardin waved her off and focused once again on Kruber. 

“So I’ve cut me way through a horde of raki single-handedly, and I begin scaling the cliffside. Getting a vantage point, using tactics, Azumgi, y’see?”

“Very tactical Bardin, go on,” Kruber said with a smile. 

“So, I reach this ledge and prop myself up on it. Quite high for a dari, but desperate times Azumgi,” Bardin said, illustrating how high he was with a raised hand. “I look down and the troll’s knocked our wee elf off the side o’ the cliff, and she’s hanging on-”

Markus sat up straight, ignoring the pain in his ribs.

“Kerillian?? You didn’t tell me-”

“Aye, she’s fine Azumgi. Been in worse scrapes than this, our little elf has.”

Kruber could see Saltzpyre arching an eyebrow at his sudden outburst. He ignored it.

“Anyway Kruber, s’troll looked like it was making to grab her, so there I am, and I shout at it, ‘Oi! Wazzock!!’” Bardin said, standing on top of the half-pillar to aid his retelling. “And the thing looks at me, hideous face, and I make a leap, like Grimnir slaying the-”

“More like a fall, dwarf,” said Sienna.

“Ah, what?? No, it was a leap, I said!”

“The ledge crumbled under your considerable weight, more like,” said the witch.

Victor obscured his grin by dipping the wide brim of his hat, but not before Bardin caught his look and developed a profound flush.  
“Ah, well, maybe so, but still…ye’ve got to admit, me splitting it’s skull like that...damned impressive, no?”

“True, dwarf, it was a good strike, just don’t get carried away in the retelling of it.”

Bardin spread his hands sheepishly before Kruber, a rare admittance that one of his tall tales had only a kernel of truth. Sienna rose and stretched like a cat, her hair alight once more.

“Now darlings, I fancy a bit of a walk. I’ll see you lads in the morning.”

With this the witch did a small pirouette and sauntered out the western door towards the forge. 

“Bardin, was that all that happened? No one else was hurt? Kerillian’s alright?” said Kruber.

“What? Oh yes, pulled her up straight away. She hardly weighs more than a branch, that one. Didn’t say anything for the rest of the trip, really. Not that I mind.”

Kruber nodded, leaning once again against the stone wall of his bunk. Bardin produced a barrel and drinking horn from behind Lohner’s planning desk.

“Everything alright here at the keep, Azumgi? Illusions still holding and all that?” Bardin said as he filled the horn from a small iron spigot.

“Everything fine here Bardin, except-”

Kruber thought of the illusion of Kerillian that Olesya had conjured to toy with him. He pushed the memory aside.

“Except for the brew Olesya gave to me. Vile stuff.”

“Aye, needs hops, I’ve always said,” Bardin said, quaffing the ale from his horn. 

“Right, she told me it was tea to get me to drink it.”

“Witches are rife with deceit Kruber, be on your guard,” Saltzpyre said, fixing Markus with his icy stare. 

“Yes sir, of course sir, but you don’t think Olesya would-”

“I do not doubt her loyalty to the cause, but I trust her no further than that,” Saltzpyre said, placing his empty bowl atop Sienna’s. “Now, I think it is time I retire. Good evening to you.”

Saltzpyre made his way primly to his feet, and strode down the central steps of the keep. However, instead of making his way to the dungeons, Kruber watched the top of Saltzpyre’s hat bob off in the direction of the creek...and the forge. 

_Witches are the ones full of deceit then, sir?_

Kruber smiled a smile that Bardin missed, engaged as he was with draining the last mouthful from his drinking horn.

As the hours passed, Bardin continued his imbibement from the cask, regaling Kruber with the tale of the rest of their adventure, in which he, Bardin, apparently had taken center stage. Eventually the dwarf gave an enormous yawn, and began to amble his way towards his bunk.

“Tell ye th’ rest in th’ mornin’, ‘Zumgi.”

Bardin hit the straw mattress of his bunk with a definitive thud. Kruber counted four breaths before the dwarf was snoring fit to shake the mountain.

_Blessings of Taal upon him, he’ll need it in the morning._

Kruber rose slowly, oh so slowly, to his feet and staggered a few steps to where he could see through the south-western door to the training grounds and-

_Kerillian._

The light of a small cookfire glowed from behind the large gnarled tree. It cast a shadow against the canvas of the elf’s lean-to. Markus could see the thin shape of Kerillian as she tended to a small basin resting over the flame.


	5. Chapter 5

Kruber watched as Kerillian’s form dipped two clay mugs into the simmering basin and began walking towards the keep. Kruber flushed and immediately ducked back down into his bunk before he was seen.

_Pretend to be asleep! No, wait. Could be coming to talk…_

Kruber attempted several “relaxed” positions that proved too painful for his battered ribs, and eventually settled for sitting upright, just as he heard the whisper of a cloak drifting across the stairs.

Kerillian rounded the bottom of the steps and met eyes with the soldier. They both stared wide-eyed for a moment before Kerillian looked away, her facewrap covering her awkward smile.

“Ah, Kruber...I heard about Olesya-”

_Sigmar…_

“No, it wasn’t-”

“-I figured you wouldn’t say no to actual tea.”

_Oh…_

“That’s...lovely Kerillian. Thank you.”

The sides of the elf’s eyes crinkled, in what Kruber could tell was a heartened grin.

“Do ye mind if I sit?” she said, gesturing to his bunk.

“Course not! Make yourself, ah, comfortable,” he said, shifting quickly to the far end of the bed.

Kerillian placed herself on the middle of the bunk and handed him one of the clay mugs. A smell of jasmine, vanilla, and herbs unknown greeted Markus’ nose. Kerillian gestured to Bardin’s prone form.

“How much did the dwarf have to drink? He snores like an aurochs.”

Kruber motioned to the cask of ale that lay overturned at the foot of Bardin’s bunk. Kerillian gave a snort and gazed into her mug of tea.

“Our master dwarf has got to get a hold on his cups, or they’ll have a hold on him.”

“Well, I wouldn’t begrudge him a drink tonight...sounds like you all might need one after…”

Kerillian’s look suddenly grew cold and far-off.

“Oh! Are you alright? Bardin mentioned that the troll-”

“I’m here, Kruber. That’s enough. Drink your tea. Please.”

She gave him a weighty look, but what that weight was, Markus could not say. He drank from the steaming mug in his hand. Immediately a warmth surged through him, and a flavor both sweet and spiced. 

“Kerillian...is this...honey?”

“Aye, there are bees this high up, if ye know where to look.”

“...I’m grateful.”

She smiled, this time Kruber could not tell her emotion under the covering, but guessed that it was wan and sad. They both looked away. Time drew on.

_By Taal, say something…_

“Do you...want to talk about something? That is...you don’t have to…”

“Yes,” she said, turning her mug in her hands. “And no. It’s not something the others would understand, and I thought you might…”

“Sympathize?”

She fixed him with her trademark sly grin.

“Large words for a ‘bluff soldier,’ ey Kruber?”

He smiled, glad to have her barbs back, and began to mouth a retort, when-

“No, Kruber, you’re right. Ye can sympathize. Eh, how do I begin…”

“The mine, or...the troll?”

Kerillian turned her mug in her hands some more, apparently looking for the right words. Kruber noticed she hadn’t taken a sip.

_Couldn’t though. Not with that wrap on her face. Wonder what she-_

“Aye, it’s true, the troll surprised me. I was in the lead. It was so bloody dark in that mine, even for a daughter of Athel Loren. The troll must have been in wait. His fetid skin blended with the rock...and in the dark, it was practically invisible.” 

Kruber sucked in his breath without realizing it. Kerillian took no notice.

“Saltzpyre called out skaven behind us. I turned to sight my bow on them, but afore I could nock an arrow it’s fingers were around me,” Kerillian said, her eyes narrowing. “It crushed the wind out of me. I think it meant to eat me before moving on to the others.”

She offered Kruber a look, but the emotion behind it was masked.

“Well...it didn’t eat you, did it? Still here, aren’t ya?”

_Stupid, stupid…_

“Aye, I managed to sink my glaia between it’s knuckles afore that happened. It shrieked and threw me,” she said, her eyes still and distant. “I managed a roll, but the force of it...took me off the cliff…”

Here Kerillian’s eyes widened and she stared into the empty space in front of her.

“I grabbed onto the edge...hung there,” she said, gripping an imaginary precipice, her tea forgotten in her left hand. “I felt it’s footsteps crashing, coming for me. I wanted to pull myself up. I’ve done it before. A hundred times I’ve gotten up without any mayfly assistance. But this time…”

“You couldn’t. You felt trapped.”

“I was trapped, Kruber.”

“Aye, but I mean...in your mind.”

“Yes...I suppose so,” she said. “I was hanging, and thinking ‘Why are ye here Kerillian? Why are ye helping these mayflies? Why are ye doing anything? Why not just fall? And die. And not see the End Times anymore. And not fight skaven. Or trolls. Or chaos. Just sleep.’”

A tear rolled down her alabaster cheek, and Kruber watched as it was soaked up by her facewrap. A silence enveloped the two, and for a time that was all that seemed appropriate.

“But you did get up. You did keep fighting. Like you always do.”

“Aye. Bardin felled the troll. I didn’t see it, I only heard the dwarf’s shout and the crash of the thing’s body. Saltzpyre pulled me over the edge and we...kept fighting.”

“See? And you made it!”

“Aye, I made it out. We all did, thank Isha. But Kruber...I don’t know…”

“Don’t know what?”

“This fighting...When does it stop? When does it end? I curse the ratmen with every breath, but...it seems that every victory only slows them. Like they can’t be beaten. Like…”

“They’re an endless, terrifying tide of madness that will sweep over the whole world?”

“Yes...something like that…”

“I know what you mean.”

Kerillian looked at Markus. The question formed on her lips.

“Back when I was soldiering in Ostland. We were repelling a force of Norscans who sailed ‘cross the Gulf of Kislev to raid, and rape, and take what slaves they could back across the Sea of Claws.”

She leaned in the slightest bit, and Markus continued.

“Anyway, they had already torched the sea fortress, and were making their way inland. We meant to stop them on the northern steppes. My regiment was holding the middle. My old commander used to say that a formation is only as good as the men at the center. Well…”

He paused for a moment before finding the strength to continue.

“Mine were the best. Trained them all up from green boys into fighting men. Knew all of them down to what moon they were born under. We were a unit.”

“Ye speak as if it’s a past life, Kruber.”

“It is, in a way.”

A pause. The wind whistled through the rafters. Bardin’s snoring continued its regular drone.

“What happened?”

“We were pushing them back. Inch by inch. We’d done it before, and this time was no different. We were going to push them back into the sea and let the salt take them. We were going to march back to the barracks and have an ale and sleep in our beds.”

“...but ye didn’t.”

“No. This time they had some foul shaman among them. A necromancer, of sorts. I saw him from where I commanded the center. A bald fella, all covered in bones and feathers and blue paint. Never saw a skinnier man, but he held the enormous staff, all bedecked with wolf skulls.”

Now it was Kruber’s turn to see something far away. 

“He raised his staff...thing, and all the eyes on the skulls had this blue fire,” said Kruber. “Then some sort of tear opened up. Just a rip in the air. And inside was black. And there was this horrible screaming. And then I realized it was my men, being sucked into that tear. And some of them looked at me as they flew into it. Evans, and Ulric, and Petyr. All gone in a flash. And it would have been me too. It was pulling at me. And I heard some foul god from that rip calling ‘Markus, Markus.’ Only it wasn’t something in there. It was Henri. He dropped his sword and pushed me on the chest with all he had. And I fell back as he lost his footing. And then the rip closed up. And they were gone. Every last one. And I was left.”

The last echo of his words seemed to drift up and out through the hole in the roof. Kerillian sat still, waiting for a reaction from Markus. She watched as his eyes softened, and she could tell he was out of the memory, and once more in the present. He breathed a long, slow breath. Kerillian felt herself breathe with him, though she was not aware of it. At last he spoke.

“The other regiments made it back, and I was given leave to...ah, ‘recover my fighting spirit.’ At least that’s how my commander said it to me.”

Markus put his mug down. Kerillian silently did the same.

“The worst thing you can give a man in that situation is time to himself. That, and endless beer rations. I must have drank through most of the winter stock before they cut me down to six a day.”

“Kruber...I’m sorry…”

The aged soldier nodded a silent thanks.

“There’s a lot of people wanting to give up out there. A lot who’ve seen the forces of Chaos firsthand and want to climb inside a hole and hide. Or into a bottle,” Kruber said, stroking his beard. “That’s what I did. Must have been two and a half months or so I hid myself in that bottle. Hardly remember a lick of it.”

“There are some...among the children of Athel Loren...who drink too deep and too often of the wines of the Tree-Kin,” Kerillian said, fidgeting with the strap of her bracer. “They become like the beasts of the forest themselves, and less like the brothers and sisters ye remember them as.”

“It sounds like too much drink is at least one thing our peoples have in common then, ey?” 

Kruber watched as a wan smile crept into the elf’s eyes. She looked at him expectantly, as if he should continue.

“Anyway, the point I was making...There are a lot of folk looking to give up. They want someone else to stop the ratmen, or the Pact-sworn, and make it all go away. And we’re those people.”

“Aye, I suppose we are, though at times like these I don’t much care for it.”

“I’m right with you,” Kruber said, giving his ribs a pat. “But they need us. We’re heroes to them. The Ubersreik Five.”

“But we’re losing, Kruber. Every success just delays them.”

“You’re right. We can’t beat them. Not just you, me, Sienna, Saltzpyre, and Bardin. But we can give people hope. We can make them feel like fighting, instead of hiding.”

Kerillian looked at Kruber, her black eyes fixed on his. Markus felt his heart beat faster, but knew he needed to keep talking.

“And even we want to hide sometimes, yes. I tried to drown myself in ale. You wanted to let go of that cliff. And you could’ve. But you didn’t.”

Kruber saw now that Kerillian’s hand had drifted down to rest just to the left of her thigh. Without thinking, he placed his hand on his right. The foot between them seemed like a mile.

“Something in you kept fighting, just like something in me did, Kerillian. We slay the ratmen by the dozen every time we venture out. We can’t let them break us from within. We can’t stop fighting. If not for yourself, then for Athel Loren.”

A smile alighted on Kerillian’s face and she turned away. Kruber thought he saw a blush creeping its way over her facewrap, but couldn’t be sure. The elf moved her hand to her face, as if covering a smile.

_Damn..._

“Ah, Kruber, I see now why ye inspired such loyalty in yer men.”

“Well...can’t have them, ah...it’s the job and all…”

“No, what I mean to say, Kruber,” she said, turning towards him once again, “Is thank you.”

Her hand suddenly reached out and took his. Their fingers intertwined immediately.

“Ye have a way with words.”

Kruber found that he very much did not have a way with words at the moment. Kerillian laughed at his sudden muteness.

“What? Ye thought I wouldn’t notice this?” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. “Ye’re sweet Kruber, but a tad obvious. Which is...sweet.”

“I...ah…” Kruber stammered, his face going red.

He tried to hide his flush behind his hand, but feeling immature, attempted to turn it into a stroke of his beard. Markus looked at Kerillian taking all this in with barely controlled mirth. 

“I...do my best.”

“That ye do Kruber, that ye do,” she said, this time electing not to laugh in his face.

A silence passed between the two, and Kruber was acutely aware of how enchanting it felt to hold her hand in his. This kind of delicate touch was something unknown to him for too many years.

“Kerillian…?”

The elf’s ears pricked a bit.

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow, would you mind showing me a thing or two about that sword of yours?”

“Ah, my draich?”

He looked befuddled for a moment. This time she did giggle at his expression.

“I’d be happy to, Kruber. Give ye a move or two to try, aside from yer usual brutish chopping.”

“Well, it gets the job done, doesn’t it?”

Kerillian chuckled to herself and sprang to her feet, gathering up both mugs in one smooth motion.

“At noon, Kruber, I’ll expect ye in the training yard. And don’t hurt yerself on the way over. Our first lesson will be about breath.”

With this she walked gaily up the steps of the keep and off towards her tent.

“Breath? For a swordfight??”

“Swordfight? With an Asrai? At your age? Ye’ll be grateful that I keep it to sword _play _. Goodnight Markus”__

____

____

With this she offered him one last teasing look and turned to leave. 

“Goodnight Kerillian,” he said softly, though he knew she heard by the twitch of her ears.

With his head swimming, Markus lay down to sleep, pulling the roughspun blanket over himself. It would be several hours yet before he could quiet his thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

By morning Kruber felt like a new man. At least until he tried to sit up.

_Gah! Sigmar’s teeth…_

This time the soldier inched himself up a bit more gingerly, and brought himself upright without too much pain. Kruber took a breath, and realized gratefully that his ribs no longer felt entirely like a badly tied bundle of sticks.

_Olesya’s potion worked a treat, despite the taste…_

Kruber took in his surroundings. The cookfire from last night was all ash and remnants. The troll skull still stared at him from eyeless sockets. And Bardin’s bunk was empty.

_Odd for that dwarf to be up so early...or mayhaps I’ve slept in…_

Markus craned his neck to the ceiling, where he saw that the sun was near to approaching its zenith.

_By Taal, must have slept like the dead…_

Kruber put both of his feet onto the cool stones of the keep and drew himself up to his full height. He held his breath, expecting an outcry of pain from his ribs. When none came, he exhaled.

_Perhaps I was too hard on the old crone. She did a bang-up job…_

Donning his tunic and gloves, Kruber looked around the keep and his eyes lit on his trusty broadsword.

_Suppose I shouldn’t be late for Kerillian’s training...or...later than I am…_

Lifting the weapon over his shoulder, Kruber made for the training ground on the west side of the keep. While his mind was focused on the lesson that was to come, Markus’ heart was doing cartwheels at the prospect of another hour or two alone with the elf who occupied so much of his thoughts. Even if she was going to beat him senseless. As Markus made his way to the straw training dummies a familiar voice greeted him.

“Ah, Kruber! So you’re finally up!”

Kruber had to shield his eyes from the sun as he looked up to see Kerillian perched atop the tree that made up the north wall of her lean-to. Through the beams of light he could just make out her mischievous squint and the arrow in her hands she was fletching. 

“Well, had to recover from that blow to the head, and the ribs, and the rest of me. Come to think of it, I don’t remember you fighting a rat ogre head on the other afternoon, now do I?”

“Ah see, Kruber, maybe that’s why we elves live so long; we don’t charge headlong into certain death like some mayflies I know.”

Kruber laughed and held out his hands in a gesture of surrender. He knew he could never best Kerillian in a battle of sass, it was useless to try. Upon seeing her victory, Kerillian grinned wider and quickly dismounted from the bough she was on. The elf made her way down the tree as smoothly as a human may descend a flight of stairs, and Kruber was in awe of her grace.

Kerillian strode towards Markus, twirling the arrow between her fingers. At last she stood before him, and placed the feathers of the arrow just under Kruber’s chin.

“The word is, Kruber, you need a bit of training, from an Asrai of all people.”

“Well, Kerillian, I figure for all your talk, you may know a thing or two.”

She grinned at this.

“Oh, cheeky today, then? Ye’ll reconsider that once I’m through with ye.”

“After you’re through...what? Breathing at me?” Kruber joked, “Not unless you’ve been scarfing onions since dawn.”

“Strange of you to object to onions, Kruber. You humans always reek of them.”

The two shared a hard look for a moment...and then burst into laughter. Kerillian held her sides, while Kruber could not shake the silly smile that leapt onto his face.

“I’ll just be a moment, let me fetch my draich, Kruber.”

“And I, your onion-knight, shall wait here.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“ _My_ onion-knight?”

The meaning of what Kruber had just said hit him like a sack of grain.

“Er, well...to say-”

“Markus,” she said playfully, “Think nothing of it.”

With this she tossed him a wink and made off for her tent. Kruber felt his heart rise as if she had laid a hand upon his cheek. He watched her form saunter up the steps to her lean-to.

_By Taal, she’s a fair lady._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! Life has been crazy, and I wanted to post a longer chapter, but I also didn't want to leave people hanging too long! Hopefully you enjoyed it! More to come!


	7. Chapter 7

When Kerillian emerged from her tent with her draich resting on her shoulder, the lesson began in earnest. 

“Kruber, stand yerself here, and plant yer feet,” she said, indicating the spot with her blade. “Put the tip of that shoddy blade in the earth, and try to look like a statue.”

“Eh, wouldn’t this get me cut down in-”

“Kruber. My lesson. Not yours.”

_Right…_

Markus did his best to look like one of the stone figures guarding a temple of Sigmar. Kerillian gave him a measured look, and the smallest of nods when she felt he was in place.

“Now Kruber, close yer eyes.”

Markus did as he was asked, though shutting his eyes felt like stripping himself naked. If he were back training as a recruit again he would expect a sharp blow to the head at any moment. The memory did little to put him at ease.

“I can see yer tension Kruber. Focus on the exercise. Relax.”

Kruber arched one eyebrow in a silent retort, but resolved himself to softening his shoulders a bit.

“That’s...not terrible, Kruber. Now breathe. Ye’ve been holding it in since ye started.”

She was right. How was she right? Kruber let out a breath, and felt his core relax as well. Not ideal for a man expecting battle, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling either.

“Now Markus, listen. What do ye hear?”

“Ahh...wind, a bird-”

“Not to me, in yer head.”

_Right...a bird, the wind...cloth blowing...door creaking, somewhere...leaves rustling…_

“That’s good, Kruber. Now turn yer focus inward. Listen to yer heart. Yer breath.”

“How did you-”

“I had a very good teacher in Athel Loren. Now do as I say. And remember to breathe.”

Kruber consented, becoming less aware of his boots on the ground, his hands on the sword, and more aware of the breath rushing into and out of him. Of the slow beat of his heart. Compared to the rate of his breath it was practically a staccato. Four or five beats for every breath he took in. After several more breaths it become three beats for every inhalation. Then two. Then one. 

Markus found there was very little else in his mind. When given a challenging exercise, he became supremely and meticulously focused on it. So much so that he could not possibly have reacted to what happened next.

A sudden blow to his solar plexus sent all the carefully controlled breath gushing out of him. Markus felt himself falling and the brief glimpse he was able to take revealed nothing but spinning sky. An impact jarred his back and everything was darkness.

Markus awoke to the sight of Kerillian leaning over him, her black eyes intense with scrutiny. Upon seeing him meet her gaze, Kerillian’s eyes softened with an expression of relief, as if a lurking worry had been banished.

“Barking hells, elf, you’d hit an injured man like that?”

“I had my reservations about it, but…” she said, shrugging. “The tinctures of Shallya heal ye mayflies quick, with how strong Olesya brews them.”

Kruber put a hand to his chest, and was pleasantly surprised to his find his ribs offered no cries of pain. Nothing other than an ache where Kerillian’s palm must have struck.

“Besides, that’s one of the first lessons ye’ll need to learn; seeing the blow before it happens,” she said, extending a hand to help the soldier up.

“Hard to see the blow when you’ve told me to keep my eyes shut, Kerillian,” he said, allowing her to help him to his feet.

_By Taal she’s got strength in that arm…_

“Aye, but it’ll get easier with practice. Now, take a fighting stance.”

“Going to knock me down again?” Kruber said as he settled into his natural stance.

“Only if ye let me,” she said with a glint in her eye.

Kruber felt himself blush, but held his sword before him, determined not to be surprised again. Kerillian saw his readiness and took her stance a small distance from him. She raised her draich’s pommel up to her cheek and pointed the wicked tip at Markus. 

_This must be what the rat-men see before they meet their rat-god...or maybe it’s a cheese god…_

“Now Kruber, we aren’t going to go for each other...yet.”

Something in the tone of her voice gave Markus pause, but he brushed it aside and tightened his grip on the sword.

“I want ye to move slowly, and breathe with each strike. Inhale when ye draw back, and exhale when ye swing the blow.”

“Wouldn’t you start huffing and puffing during a real fight then?”

She smirked at him.

“We’ll get there Kruber, don’t ye go rushing ahead now.”

Kruber cocked an eyebrow slightly, but decided not to question further. He instead locked eyes with Kerillian. Markus had an easier time not getting lost in them now, as the pommel of her greatsword was resting just below her cheekbone. After a moment, Kerillian gave a slight nod, and the sparring began.

Kerillian’s blade moved gradually towards Kruber in a carefully controlled thrust. Markus parried slowly, inhaling as he went. Steadily, he twisted his sword and sent a blow back at Kerillian, exhaling as he did so. The elf drew her blade back into an overhead block, and Kruber felt the strength in her arms even through their pantomime. Kerillian sidestepped with the blow to Kruber’s left, and sent an arcing strike for the soldier’s neck. Inhaling, Kruber easily pivoted to block the swing before it came home.

_This isn’t too difficult, what with the breathing...s’long as we stay at this pace…_

The dance continued. For how long, Kruber could not be sure. He could not banish the sneaking suspicion that if he were to lose focus, or forget to breathe, that he would suddenly find himself on the ground once more. 

They pivoted and swung, turned and lashed, but all with a controlled grace. Occasionally Markus would catch Kerillian’s eye between strikes. Her gaze was intent and fixed on him. He saw complete focus in her eyes, and had the sense that his movements were being scrutinized. Kruber drew upon his endurance, built of years of fighting experience, and determined himself not to disappoint. 

At last the dance concluded. Despite the measured pace of their bladework, Kerillian’s draich had managed to sneak past Kruber’s guard and rest at his throat. They broke apart and Kruber was surprised at the profound ache in his thighs and shoulders. 

_By Taal, never thought moving that slow could still leave me so-_

“Shake it out, Kruber, and we’ll go again.”

“How long for this time?” he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“As long as ye can hold out,” she said, with a trace of humor in her tone. “Ye’ve picked up the basics faster than I would have thought a mayfly could. I’d say yer ready to spar for real.”

Her eyes met his with a questioning look, as if asking if he could keep up. Kruber was not one to be deterred. Markus considered himself lucky to be spending this much time alone with Kerillian already, and didn’t wish to jinx it.

“You’re on, elf. And I won’t go easy on you.”

“Better not. I’d think ye were going soft Kruber. A dishonor to the Empire, that’d be.”

She gave him a fierce grin from under her facewrap. Without ceremony they both settled in to their preferred fighting stances. 

“Till first blood then, Kruber? And for Isha’s sake, remember to breathe.”

They began.

This time her first blow did not come as a thrust, but a wickedly fast cut aimed at Kruber’s thigh. The soldier backstepped with ease and returned with a probing thrust of his blade. Kerillian’s guard swung upward, knocking Kruber’s point high. Her blade came around, striking for his side, and Kruber just managed to bring his guard down in time with a pivot. The force of the blow shook him. 

The fight continued. Kerillian came at him with a savage grace, hacking at every opening he showed. Kruber was for the moment unable to launch an offensive, so focused was he on fending off the rain of blows. To his credit though, his footing was planted and sure. As much as the elf struck, she could not push him back an inch. 

Eventually Kruber found an opening. Kerillian turned for a backslash, intending to strike where Kruber might expect it least. However, instead of going for the block, Kruber simply shuffled back, and the elf’s blade went wide. He moved in quickly, delivering a crashing blow that Kerillian caught by twisting just in time. The soldier advanced, punishing her haphazard footwork, forcing her back step by step.

Kerillian could tell she was losing. Once Kruber was given a foothold in a fight, he was unwilling to release it. Kerillian had to admit, she was impressed. However, losing a fight to one she had just earlier been instructing would not do. His footwork was practiced to perfection, she could tell. A soldier’s footwork. However, Kruber had been trained to fight raiders, monsters, and other soldiers. He had never had to contend with an Asrai before.

Kruber drew back for a horizontal blow, and Kerillian saw her chance. As the blade swung towards her she turned and dropped, swinging her leg with all her strength at the back of Kruber’s ankles. The blow connected. Kruber fell, the look of surprise clear on his face. As he hit the ground, his grip on his blade was broken and it clattered across the stones. Without missing a beat, Kerillian clambered atop him, pulling a dagger from her boot. She placed the tip against his adam’s apple and couldn’t contain her smile of satisfaction. They were both breathing heavily. At last Kruber regained enough air to be able to speak.

“Should have expected a trick from a treacherous elf,” he grumbled.

“Aye, but ye didn’t,” Kerillian said, the mischief gleaming in her eyes.

She took the dagger off his throat and placed it on the ground. When she looked back at Kruber, she could tell he had just realized the peculiar entanglement they were in. His hands found her thighs and rested there. Kerillian felt a flush building behind her facewrap.

“I also didn’t expect to find myself in this, ah...position,” Kruber said, his eyes locked on hers.

“To tell ye the truth Markus, neither did-”

“KRUBER!! Quick! Get free afore she sucks yer soul out through yer eyes! Elves’ll do that ye know!”

Kerillian rolled off Kruber with all the speed of a startled cat. It was Kruber’s turn to be flushed as he whipped his head around, spying Bardin laughing uproariously from the second story of the forge.

“BARDIN! I-...You-...You can’t just-”

“What? Spy? Can hardly call it spying when yer in the middle of the training yard, now can ye Kruber?”

Kruber struggled with forming words for a moment. Kerillian took this opportunity to grab her draich and disappear behind the nearby tree. 

“I-...Bardin-...What are you even doing out here?”

“Oh, me? Just moving into the forge here. Did ye know there’s a room above it? Right cozy little spot too, if I do say so. Thought I might get away from the drafts there in the keep!” he said, chuckling. “A dwarf needs heat, y’know! Though it looks like I’m not the only one.”

Bardin tossed Kruber a wink and disappeared from the window, singing a dwarvish marching song. 

_Why didn’t I hear that song before...was he there?...how much did he see...Kerillian will be-_

At that thought Kruber looked around. He caught sight of Kerillian’s cloak drifting around the edge of her lean-to and then out of sight. Kruber picked himself up and strode over to his sword. Lifting it up, he caught himself rubbing the handle with his thumb nervously. He could still remember the weight of Kerillian atop him. The feel of her thighs against his sides as she had straddled him.

_Couldn’t have picked a worse time, that dwarf…_

Kruber looked at where the canvas cloth hid Kerillian from view. He started towards it. Then, in a rare moment of tact, decided against it.

_Probably...give her a little time…_

Nodding to himself, Kruber made his way back towards the keep. When he looked up, Sienna was striding out towards him.

“Ah, Kruber, good to see you looking better. And feeling better by the sounds of that duel. Woke me up from my midday nap, darling.”

“...Sorry Sienna...didn’t know you were-”

“Think nothing of it Kruber. Besides, time for planning!” she said, stretching lithely. “Victor wants to see you in the dungeons. Something about tracking down a Chaos general. Bumbleyuck Hemorrhage or somesuch. The followers of Nurgle call themselves such ridiculous things, I can’t be bothered remembering. Oh, do you know if there’s any of that stew left? It was splendid last night.”

“Ah, no, not sure. Ask Bar-...ask Bardin about it. In the forge”

“That I will then,” she said, noticing his hesitation but saying nothing. “Well, off you trot! Don’t keep Saltzy waiting.”

With this she made her way off to the forge, and Kruber descended the steps into the keep. He placed his broadsword at the foot of his bed and then started off for the dungeons. Kruber’s thoughts were churning, half with the memories of what had just happened in the yard, and what was to come in the mission Victor was planning. Kruber quickened his pace towards the dungeons. Tactical planning always helped steady his mind, though he was not so eager to put aside the thoughts of Kerillian and her jet-black eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

Kruber made his way down to the dungeons, composing his face, if not his mind, for the meeting to come. As Markus opened the heavy ironbound door to Victor’s quarters he was hit by the familiar stench of pipesmoke. Since setting himself up here, Saltzpyre had turned the damp and shadowy cells into a crisply organized den. He had decided to keep the aged torture devices that still hung from the ceiling. However, they were now accompanied by detailed medical diagrams and maps. In one corner, Kruber spotted a Skaven head locked into a vice. The last expression of the creature registered incredible shock and pain. Kruber decided he liked the dungeons better when they were empty.

As Markus approached Saltzpyre, who was bent over a collection of maps at the far end of the room, he glanced into the cell that served as Victor’s bedroom. There sat a bed, neatly made, and a not inconsiderable number of shackles hanging from rings on the ceiling. And on the wall…

_Are those scorch marks? What could-_

“Ah, Kruber, good to see you awake,” Victor said, turning about. His gilded pipe puffed like a steam tank.

“And you, sir. Glad to see no one else got hurt in that scrap.”

“Indeed. The ratmen are savage foes, but predictable in battle. These Chaos however are another story,” Victor said. “Come here. Have a look at these maps.”

“Sienna said something about a chaos lord, sir? One Bundle…..something?”

“Yes, Burblespue Halescourge. A sorcerer of Nurgle who sits atop Helmgart like an overgrown, pustule. Our job is to pop him,” Victor said, with a look of righteous anticipation.

Kruber did not share Victor’s enthusiasm for tangling with the rotting hordes of Nurgle, but he kept this to himself. Saltzpyre took no notice, instead grabbing the top-most map of the pile and opening it before Kruber.

“Much of Helmgart has caved in after the activation of the Skittergate, previously making this map obsolete. But Olesya has worked her magick and scouted out the area of the collapse,” he said, gesturing to the charcoal outline that covered much of the city.

_By Taal, there’s hardly any city left…_

“Burblespue is camped at his manor, here,” Victor said, pointing out a large black X. “The main streets in and out of that end of the city are guarded heavily. I don’t doubt your’s or the elf’s abilities, but a frontal assault would be suicide.”

Kruber nodded. Tactics were second nature to him.

“So we’ll be going in the sneaky way then, sir?”

“Yes, though it pains me to say so. We must choose where we strike with precision.”

Victor ran his finger across a red dotted line that stretched from the edge of one of the city walls. It wound its way through the streets of the poor quarter, skirted along the edge of the ravine for quite a ways, and came to a halt at the Nurgle manor.

“We’ll take this route through the city, avoiding the main avenues at all cost. And here,” he said, pointing out the part of the path that ran even with the chasm. “Well, I hope you aren’t afraid of heights Kruber.”

“...I’ll manage...sir.”

Victor nodded stiffly and rolled up the map in his hands.

“That you will, Kruber, I have no doubt. Now, let us bring this to the others. We set out in a few hours.”

“A few...hours, sir?”

“Yes, Kruber. I trust you are fit enough for battle, judging by your duel with the elf,” Victor said, his eyes betraying no emotion. “And Burblespue will not sit idle in Helmgart for long. Lohner tells me that even now he plans to rain a plague on what remains of the city. We must be the ones to strike first.”

With that Saltzpyre strode past Kruber out of the dungeons and made for the main keep. Markus followed, shaking his head all the while.

_Out of the kettle and into the cookfire..._

<><><>

As Kruber and Saltzpyre made their way into the atrium of the keep, Kerillian and Sienna were entering from the courtyard. Kerillian flashed Markus only the briefest of glances. Sienna chewed a piece of salt pork, looking between the two, but elected to say nothing. Saltzpyre did not delay in his part, but spread the map on Lohner’s table and began explaining the course of the mission to Kerillian. The elf nodded silently, and did not seem at all disturbed by the prospect of the perilous heights they were to face. At last Saltzpyre broke off his stream of warnings and addressed them all.

“Ready yourselves, we leave in two hours,” Victor said, rolling up the map. “And it will be just the four of us. Bardin is remaining behind.”

Sienna scoffed, “Probably nursing a hangover, the glutton-”

“Nay, witch! I’ve earned a bit of respite! Saving your skins from trolls and such!” Bardin cried from the forge doorway, where he appeared holding a box of various armaments. “A hero like me deserves ‘is just rewards!”

“Oh, do we get holidays from the Skaven now, Bardin? How wonderful!” Sienna shot back.

“Next time, you slay a troll in one stroke, then we’ll hear less of yer groaning on the next mission, Zharrin,” Bardin said, exiting the doorframe with his load.

“Mouthy little-”

“I can still hear ye!” said Bardin from outside.

Kruber chuckled to himself and went to ready his armor. The rest of the group parted ways. Kruber could hear Sienna grumbling something through a mouthful of pork.

<><><>

_The waiting is always the worst._

Kruber slid the whetstone along the blade of his greatsword, listening to the slow rasp. The brief pause. The rasp again. The calming effect of the repetitive movement warred with the anxiety bubbling up in him.

_Don’t need to keep a special eye on her...By Taal, she can handle herself…_

A long rasp, followed by a pause.

_But...Sigmar...don’t take her from me...not yet…_

The stone made its way down the blade again.

_Don’t take her, like all the rest of-_

“Whittle that thing much more, Kruber, and ye’ll have naught but a dinner knife to fight the skaven with!”

Kruber smiled in spite of his thoughts and turned to look at the smirking elf.

“Mayhaps you could use a dinner knife, elf. You’re looking a little thin these days. Don’t want a Stormvermin to snap you like a twig, do ya?”

“Better than being broad as an ox, Kruber. Next time we run into a Ratling gunner, I think we could all stand behind ye and not get a scratch!”

Kruber chuckled and got to his feet.

“You ready for this next jaunt, elf?” he said. “Don’t think you’ll be able to leg sweep every skaven on our way to the sorcerer.”

Kerillian cast back her head, giving him a birdlike laugh as she passed.

“Watch me, Kruber.”

The elf made her way across the atrium with her draich resting on her shoulder. Her gait belied a casual, but deadly readiness. Kruber watched her pass, his eyes drifting to the leather breeches she wore, which clung tightly to the curves of her-

_That’s not what she meant by ‘watch me,’ you bleeding idiot!_

Kruber snapped his eyes back to an appropriate level. Despite the silent nature of his self-disciplining, Kerillian cast a knowing glance over her shoulder. Kruber’s face reddened considerably under his whiskers.

_By Taal...suppose I’ll just have to be the one walking in front this time…_

Without further pause Markus followed Kerillian into the lower atrium, admiring the stonework of the ancient keep.

As the two of them approached the pillar of the shadow bridge, Victor and Sienna ascended the steps from the dungeons.

“Good, you’re all here. Let’s be off,” Victor said, fingering the hammer of his pistol.

Once all four of them stepped into the ethereal half-sphere of the gate the sounds of wind and birds fell away. All that remained was the whispering of the space between spaces. If you let your mind wander, you could almost hear voices through the gloom.

_Piss on the waiting, this is the worst part…_

As the gate was about to activate and send them hurtling between worlds, Kruber felt a squeeze on his arm. It was Kerillian. The look in her eyes made all other thoughts leave his mind. Markus felt himself relax considerably.

The gate activated, and they were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the break in updates! Working on a show tends to take me away from all other projects for a time. Thank you all for your patience and for helping me reach 1000 views!


	9. Chapter 9

The going was rough, even with sticking to the back alleys and side streets. Having to pass through a house, or what was left of it, balancing precariously on the edge of the chasm was probably Kruber’s least favorite part. Watching a rat ogre fall to its death had been the high point of the trip so far.

“Daft hand you are with those bombs, sir,” Kruber said, as the bellows of the rat ogre faded to nothingness. 

“It’s all in the wrist, Kruber, I shall have to show you sometime,” Saltzpyre said.

“That you will, sir. That you will.”

Kerillian scoffed at the pair of them, and the party continued their trudge towards the manor. Here the corruption was thick, and swollen pustules clung to the walls and cobblestones of Helmgart. Sienna let loose a torrent of flame from her staff and they all gagged on the smell as one of the overgrown cysts erupted. 

“Sorry about that darlings. Seemed like a good idea at the time…”

At last they came to the dilapidated manor that served as Burblespue’s lair. 

“Steady yourselves. A Chaos sorceror is not a foe to be taken lightly,” Victor said, flicking a bit of skaven brain from the tip of his rapier. 

The rest of the party followed Saltzpyre into the remains of the estate. The stench therein was unbearable, and they quickly saw why. Strewn about in piles were the bodies of dozens of Helmgart citizens. Burblespue was nowhere to be found.

“What? We come all this way and the bastard’s not at home?” Kruber cried.

“Don’t be so sure yet, mayflies,” Kerillian said, nocking an arrow.

As if he had been listening to their talk, the sorceror appeared on the ruins of the second floor with a flash of green lighting. 

_By Taal, that must be the largest man I’ve ever seen...width-wise anyway…_

At the sight of the overgrown mage Kruber’s skin started to crawl. He could feel the rot emanating off the sorceror in waves. Kruber was so revolted, he could hardly take in the fact that the thing was making some kind of speech.

“-zest to my muculent BROTH!” Burblespue said, thumping his staff as a punctuation. 

With another flash of green lightning, the wizard was among them. Through the holes of his metal mask, Kruber saw the eyes of the diseased man staring straight into him. At least until one of Kerillian’s arrows suddenly thumped into the right socket. 

“ARGH!! Petulant worms!” the sorceror cried.

And the fight was on. 

Even if they did only have a stick and a book, Kruber knew never to underestimate mages. This Chaos sorceror proved no different. Plague winds buffeted the party, occasionally lifting them off their feet only to slam them against the rotted walls of the manor. Kerillian’s arrows went wide more oft than not. Kruber heard her growl with frustration. As for those armed with swords, it went no easier. The sorceror was teleporting all over their little arena. When one was close enough to land a blow there would be a flash of green lighting, and the fat mage would be on the other side of the manor, chortling to himself. 

After what seemed an age, Kruber saw a flash of opportunity when he was separated from the other three. Frustrated with their myriad failures, Sienna let forth the Flaming Skull. The Skull shot through the manor faster than any arrow, but missed Burblespue by a mile. It hit against the back wall and rebounded, traveling the other way. Soon it was bouncing off every surface, faster than Kruber’s eyes could follow. Burblespue, sensing that he would soon be the next thing it rebounded off, quickly teleported to a corner of the manor. Right behind Kruber.

Markus turned on his heel, bringing the blade of his broadsword around in a wide arc. His steel buried itself Burblespue’s great paunch. The sorceror screamed and dropped his staff. The skulls clattered to the ground, and Kruber pushed his advantage. Planting his feet, Kruber put all his weight behind the handle, forcing the blade through the sorceror with a boundless ferocity. A grim smile found its way to Kruber’s face as the sorceror gave a final agonized cry. Kruber’s expression changed quickly however, when Burblespue exploded.

Kruber’s vision went black, and he had the sensation of being covered in very hot and wet chunks of _something_. Once his mind caught up to his nerve endings, Kruber began shaking the mage’s putrid remains off him in a panic.

“Agh! What in-!” 

Markus cleared his nostrils and felt the strong desire to retch once he took in the rancid smell of what covered him. From behind him Kruber heard the laughter of his companions.

“Oh Markus, darling, you had just mended those pants!”

“Pah! Peh! Sod off, Sienna! Puh! I don’t see you cutting down Chaos sorcerors single-handed.”

“Oh no, wouldn’t dream of it. You look much more dashing with a sword in hand than I do. What do you think, Kerillian? Isn’t he dashing?”

“Oh aye, Sienna. This green and red look does much better than his usual black. Almost festive, wouldn’t ye say?”

“I’d say let's get to the bleeding shadow bridge, unless you two want a group hug.” Kruber said, extending his muck-caked arms. 

“Pass on that, Kruber. Hard pass.” Kerillian said with a grin.

“The shadow bridge isn’t far, follow me out of this heap,” Saltzpyre put in, ending the exchange. 

The rest of the party turned to go while Kruber picked his sword off the ground. It was covered in more of Burblespue’s...spew. Kruber have it a hearty shake. And one more for good measure. Ahead of him he heard Kerillian snicker. With a sigh he made off after them, trying not to contemplate his horrendous smell.

When they reached the bridge of shadows the sun was low in the sky, and the shadows were lengthening towards dusk. Kruber stood on one side of the shadow bridge, while his companions kept to the other side. 

“Stay well clear of me, Kruber. Over there, far as ye can go,” Kerillian had said with a mocking smile.

The bridge hummed to life.

_By Sigmar, I need a bath…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time, as I didn't want to leave people hanging too long. Thank you all for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

The humming of the shadow bridge died and the four of them were once again able to move their legs. The sun had long ago dipped below the horizon, and only a timid glow remained in the west.

“Bleeding hells, I need a bath…”

“Aye, that ye do Kruber, hard enough keeping one’s stomach on the shadow bridge without that rotten stench.”

Kerillian tittered at him, but he flushed. Being covered head to toe in muck was bad enough. In front of Kerillian it was a whole new kind of discomfort, even if she was taking it in good humor. Kruber made for the stream as the others went off to their quarters. He was one step out of the keep when there was a voice behind him.

“Darling, take my staff,” Sienna said. “This mountain water’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a dwarf.”

Kruber turned back and took Sienna’s offering. It felt oddly light for a staff of wrought iron. The skull bedecked goblet at the top was alight with dancing flame.

“Just stick it firmly in the ground, darling, and everything downstream of it should feel like a hot spring. Little trick I learned at the Bright College,” she said with a wink.

“I, er-...thank you Sienna, I’ll treat it well.” 

The witch gave him a small grin and turned on her heel, making for the stairs that led up to her chambers.

“And no trying out any fireballs, or we’ll be having roasted Kruber for supper next!”

Kruber chuckled to himself. Sienna was an enigma to him, but a charming one. He turned back towards the stream, careful to hold the staff away from his body so as not to dirty it.

Markus approached the babbling stream and tossed his sword onto the bank. He carefully placed the staff down beside it. Next went his helmet, gorget, breastplate, and greaves. Kruber noted with some disgust how far Burblespue’s remains had seeped underneath his armor.

_Nothing for it, it’ll all have to come off…_

Kruber looked around briefly. There was no sound coming from Bardin’s quarters. Indeed, all the windows were shut and not a light crept through the cracks. 

_Must have put his feet up and nodded off reading his letters from Cousin Okri…_

Kruber listened some more. There were no sounds from Sienna or Victor, and of course Kerillian was always quiet as a cat. Nothing but the wind and rush of water.

_Bah, enough dithering about. Been caked in this long enough…_

Kruber pulled his tunic over his head, nearly gagging at the smell inside. 

_Mayhaps this old thing was overdue for a wash anyway..._

Next he pulled off his armored boots, pausing to shake the muck out of them. Then his thick trousers and undershirt. At last he stood in only his smallclothes. The wind picked up and fluttered them slightly. Kruber saw with a note of disgust that even those had been stained with the days events.

_Nothing for it, nothing for it. You want to be clean, don’t you?_

With a sigh Kruber undid the drawstring and pulled them off, placing them on the pile to be washed. The wind again picked up and Kruber became very aware of the clothing he lacked. Namely all of it.

_Just going to stand there for all the Empire to see?_

Kruber scoffed at his own foolishness and dipped his foot into the stream.

“Yow!” he exclaimed as he jerked his foot back.

The stream flowed directly from the heart of the mountain, and was indeed cold enough to freeze off any part one was foolish enough to stick in. Kruber rubbed his foot with his hands, trying to bring some warmth back to it.

_The staff, ya bleeding idiot!_

Still flexing his frosty foot, Kruber made his way over to Sienna’s staff and picked it up. The iron felt warm and sure in his grip. Markus made his way a little upstream and carefully leaned over the brook. It was all rocks and shoal on the bottom, but Kruber thought he might be able to embed the staff in it with a solid strike.

“Hup!” he said as he brought the staff down.

With a satisfying crunch the butt of it became lodged in the riverbed. Immediately the creek began to steam where the water flowed past the staff. Kruber made his way over to the spot that was nearly knee deep, and gingerly extended his foot again.

This time was much different. As his foot went below the steaming water, Kruber felt a blissful sensation previously unknown to him. As a soldier for the Empire, baths had been few and far between. When you did eventually get your turn, the water was either only room temperature, or cloudy with the grime of your fellow men, or both. This bath was entirely new for Kruber, and he decided to relish every minute of it.

Markus sunk into the steaming water, inch by inch, and with every inch he loved it more. At last his chest went below the waterline, and Markus felt his bottom rest against the pebbles of the riverbed. He breathed a sigh of deepest content and closed his eyes.

_Is this what those highborn lords get to have whenever they like? By Sigmar, to be born rich…_

Kruber did not know how long he stayed like this. When he finally opened his eyes, the moon had crested the peak of the mountain and was glowing with a contented mirth. Markus breathed another sigh of relief and then looked around him.

_Came here to wash your clothes, didn’t you? This isn’t a bath house, er...or rather a bath mountain…_

Kruber grabbed his smallclothes from the top of the pile and brought them under the water. The grime washed away somewhat, but more still remained. Frustrated, Kruber rubbed at it with his hands. A little more effective, but not by much.

_By Sigmar, where’s a washboard when you need one…_

Kruber looked down between his knees and had an idea. He began to rub the small clothes against the pebbly bottom of the stream. When he brought the cloth back up to look at it, he was pleased to see that the stains from Burblespue were nearly gone.

_Ask and ye shall receive...from Sigmar that is…_

Kruber placed the smallclothes on the bank of the stream, and grabbed his stained breeches.

_Now Sigmar, how about a cup of ale on this fine evening?_

Kruber scrubbed the pants on the bottom of the riverbed and watched as the muck was washed away. Once the dirt cleared Kruber took his breeches from the water and was pleased to see that they now looked as they had this morning. He looked around the bank. No cup of ale.

_Ah well, don’t push your luck Markus, you’ll be needing plenty of it in this line of work…_

Kruber began to establish a rhythm with his work. Take the piece of clothing, scrub away at it, inspect, scrub again, place on the bank once cleaned. Again and again. 

_Peaceful work this is...Wouldn’t want to do it every day, but still…_

Kruber found the catches of an old song running through his head. He hummed along as best he could and found that he knew more of it than he thought.

_Huh, not a great deal of washing songs in the army...wonder where…_

It came to him in a flash. Markus, a small child in a sack-cloth outfit. Drawing in the mud with a stick. Drawing maps. Treasure maps mayhap. His mother singing a washerwoman’s song as she scrubbed what few clothes they had in a rickety old tub. She stopped in the middle of a catch. Someone was coming over the hill, towards their little stone hut. Someone tall. A smile on his mother’s face. It was his daddy. His daddy was back from the wars.

Markus came back to the present. A smile crept its way onto his face. He remembered the song now.

“...the road goes ever on and on...down from the door where it began…” 

Markus knew he hadn’t a voice for singing, but contented himself with humming the refrain that was both strange and familiar to him. He carried on like this for some time.

“Pretty song ye got there, Markus.”

“Agh, what??” Markus said, whipping his head around. 

There stood Kerillian holding a pair of leather boots. Above her facewrap Kruber could see her eyes twinkling with laughter.

“Just a pretty song,” she said, moving towards the creek. “Ye don’t mind if I give these a scrub, do ye? Covered in Skaven blood and who knows what else.”

“I...sure, Kerillian...if you want to…” Kruber said, his face growing warmer by the second.

“Thank ye, Kruber,” she said. “Don’t worry, I won’t disturb ye. Ye looked mighty content.”

Kerillian started walking along the creek. Kruber suddenly became aware of what he must look like and covered himself with the breastplate he had been washing. He need not have worried though, for Kerillian had covered her eyes with her hand. Still, he could see the imprint of a grin on her facewrap. She came to a stop perhaps ten feet from him and crouched with her back to him. Kruber watched her intently as she dipped the boots in the water.

“Ye remember the name o’ that song, Kruber?”

“I...no. I don’t think so...haven’t heard it in years…”

“Ah, shame then. Reminds me of a song from before I left Athel Loren…”

There was a silence, broken only by the slight wind and the sounds of Kerillian’s washing. Then-

“ _...the leaves were long, the grass was green, the hemlock-umbels tall and fair…_ ” she sang in a high, clear voice. “ _...and in the glade a light was seen, of stars and shadows shimmering…_ ”

_By Taal, she’s singing in elvish…_

The melody trailed off into nothingness, and Kerillian took her boots from the stream.

“Well, that’s as clean as they’re like to get,” she said as she stood. 

Kerillian began to walk back upstream, once again careful to cover her eyes for the sake of Kruber’s modesty. Markus flushed at the feeling of the breastplate between his legs, and knew he looked ridiculous. She passed him, but he could not make out if she was grinning or no. 

“Well, g’night Kruber.”

“Er, g’night Kerillian...thanks for...stopping by…”

The sounds of her footsteps faded away.

_Nine hells, you sound like a shepherd’s boy…_

Kruber took the breastplate from the river and held it up before him. A distorted reflection of his face looked back, stretching and squashing as he moved the piece of armor. 

_Why she might be interested in such a grey and scarred-up soldier, I’ll never know…_

Kruber tossed the breastplate back on the bank and rose out of the water to collect his belongings.

Best to get back, nothing else for it. Hang these up now-

Kruber suddenly realized that all his clothes within reach were soaked through, and he had nothing to wear on his trip back to the keep. Markus stood there dripping and scratching his beard as he considered this predicament, when-

“Ah, Kruber!”

Without pausing to think Markus quickly re-entered the water with a considerable splash. His face reddened as his tongue tied itself into knots.

“Thought ye might be needing this!”

Suddenly Kerillian was there to his right, offering what looked like a thick fold of linen cloth.

“I know how prickly ye mayflies are about being covered up.” 

Kruber took the cloth silently.

“Didn’t want ye giving Sienna a show she wouldn’t soon forget!” she said with a wink

“...I...thank you...Kerillian…”

“Ah, think nothing of it Kruber,” she said as she turned on her heel and made for her tent.

_By Sigmar, what did she see, what did she see-_

“Oh, also!” she said from afar “Glad to see ye looking so clean!”

Kruber could not muster a single thought.

After a time he turned his head to make sure she was really gone. Kruber wondered if the noise had brought anyone else out. Nothing. The keep looked deserted, though he knew it was anything but. Checking once again behind him for Kerillian, Kruber stood up in the water and wrapped the linen about himself as quickly as he could. Markus gathered up his clothes and armor. After some fumbling, he managed to free up a hand and yanked the staff from the riverbed. The steam drifted away quickly, and Kruber knew that the brook was once again cold as ice. He made his way back into the keep, wet feet slapping on the stones.

Kruber’s head spun as he hung up his tunic and breeches to dry. On one hand he was mortified at Kerillian’s prank, but on the other…

_Well, maybe she liked what she saw…_

He wrang out his undershirt onto the stones of the keep. The splatter of water echoed up into the rafters.

_Damned elf and her tricks…_

Still, Kruber could not help but chuckle at himself as he reached into his trunk for the spare set of smallclothes. 

_Damned cheeky…_

Kruber pulled the smallclothes on under the linen. Without fully knowing why, Kruber looked behind him. Halfway up the inner wall of the keep was that sizable hole that Sienna had blasted out one day, claiming she needed “more air” in her quarters. Kruber noticed the faint glow of candlelight emanating from within.

_By Sigmar, I need my own chambers…_

The idea came to him suddenly, but Kruber had already likened to it. The annex of the keep was suitable when they had first settled here, but now it proved far too open. Kruber began planning out the layout of his future chambers as he made himself comfortable on his bunk.

_...maybe out on the eastern side of the keep, beside the armory...nice chimney there for a cookpot...and then a space beside the fire for a bed...a nice wide bed…_

Kruber flushed in spite of himself.

_Well...don’t go getting ahead of yourself now…_

With these thoughts dancing through his head, Markus drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! Hopefully you appreciate the easter eggs in here!


End file.
